


And The Snow Came Down

by wendymr



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: M/M, Snow, Yuletide 2013 Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-21
Updated: 2013-12-21
Packaged: 2018-01-05 09:05:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1092100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wendymr/pseuds/wendymr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bad weather disrupts Lewis's Christmas plans... or does it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	And The Snow Came Down

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lamardeuse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lamardeuse/gifts).



> Saw your Yuletide requests and couldn't resist popping this one in :)

James brushes off his coat and shivers as he enters his flat. The snow’s at least four inches thick now, and falling steadily. The roads are appalling, covered in snow and slush that’s rapidly icing over, and populated with drivers who have no idea how to drive safely in these conditions. 

Even worse, it’s Christmas Eve, and people are either travelling or out to have a good time. Traffic division and emergency services will be busy tonight. He, however, is off-duty until the 27th, and for once very glad of the fact.

He’s also very glad of the fact that Lewis set off more than two hours ago, before the snowfall was anything more than a fairly light dusting on city streets. Even allowing for Christmas Eve traffic on the motorways, he should be well past Birmingham by now, on target to arrive at his daughter’s by nine or so, as planned.

James puts the kettle on and measures grounds into the cafetiere, debating with himself whether he really needs a dash of whisky in his coffee for warmth, or whether it’s just an indulgence. Though it is Christmas, after all, and Lewis had made him promise to enjoy himself– 

His phone rings. The caller ID is another sergeant he knows slightly, from Traffic. “Hathaway.”

“Thought you’d want to know,” Austen says without preamble. “Heard over the radio that your boss has been in a smash–”

“Is he all right?” he asks immediately, slumping against the counter as his heart speeds up.

“From what I’ve heard, yeah. He got sideswiped on the Woodstock Road at the A40 roundabout – some idiot couldn’t manage to stop at the junction.”

That close? It had to have been well over an hour ago, then. “Where is he now? On his way again?”

“Still at the scene, mate. His car’s undriveable, and of course the emergency services are on the scene–”

James is already moving towards the door, and tucks his phone under his chin so he can pull his coat on again. “Thanks for letting me know. I appreciate it.” Exiting the flat – and shivering again as the Arctic cold hits him – he ends the call.

It takes more than half an hour to get to the scene of the accident, a journey that would take ten minutes under normal circumstances. If he hadn’t used the car’s blue lights, and at times the siren, it would’ve been up to an hour. There’s a roadblock at Blandford Avenue, where traffic is being diverted away, and he has to flash his warrant card to get past. Finally, he’s pulling up behind the marked police cars and jumping out to survey the scene.

It’s not a pretty sight. A posh 4X4 rests at right angles to Lewis’s car, and the passenger side of the BMW is badly impacted. Had there been anyone sitting there, they’d have been lucky to escape without critical injuries. His boss will have been fortunate if he doesn’t have at least whiplash and some bruising, never mind sprains or broken bones.

All because some bloody yuppie doesn’t know how to drive his Chelsea tractor. James can well imagine his boss’s complaints on the matter.

And there’s Lewis, sitting on the tailgate of an ambulance, looking extremely disgruntled and apparently having an argument with the paramedic. 

“You’re in the wrong city, sir,” he observes in a mocking drawl as he approaches.

Lewis startles. “Thanks for that, sergeant. Wouldn’t have realised.”

“Are you hurt?” Probably not, given his boss’s reaction just now and James’s visual observations of him. He’s cold, though, that much is obvious.

Lewis shrugs. “Nothing that won’t mend – an’ nothing that needs to waste anyone’s time in A&E,” he adds with a scowl in the paramedic’s direction.

“You said you’d bumped your head, sir.”

“Yeah, but I wasn’t knocked out. Got a couple of bruises, that’s all. I’m fine.”

“I still strongly recommend that you should be kept under observation–”

“If that’s all that’s necessary, I can do that.” James flashes his warrant card to the paramedic, pre-empting the next argument he’s very sure is coming from Lewis: his standard protest that he has a skull like an anvil and head injuries don’t bother him. “I’m his bagman.”

That seems to satisfy the paramedic, and Lewis gets to his feet – and almost immediately loses his footing. James grabs his arm and steadies him. “Careful, sir. Car’s this way.”

Lewis nods. “Don’t know how you heard about this, James, but thanks. Was thinking I’d have to ask a uniform to drive me home – if I could ever have got away from Ms Casualty there.”

“You could have phoned me,” James points out. He sees Lewis safely into his car, noting that his boss seems generally unhurt, then turns and strides back towards Lewis’s own car, ignoring the older man’s protests. Two minutes later, he’s gathered up Lewis’s luggage and the two bags of presents, and is stowing them in his boot.

“Thanks, man! Never thought about those,” Lewis says as James gets in.

“Didn’t think you’d want them left behind while your car’s towed.” James starts the engine and reverses carefully until he gets to a turning-point. “I was contemplating driving you to your daughter’s, sir, so that you wouldn’t miss out on your Christmas with her and your grandson, but the traffic reports say the M6 is impassable and there are abandoned vehicles for miles.” He turns the fan up full blast in an attempt to keep the windscreen clear of ice; the wipers are already frozen. “I’ve never seen anything like this weather. When I was growing up, I barely remember seeing snow at all.”

“You’ve not lived, man,” Lewis says with a crooked grin. “Had a few bad winters when I was young. Mind, this is one of the worst I’ve seen too. Still,” he adds, “even if it wasn’t, I couldn’t let you drive all that way. Be ruining your Christmas, it would. An’ I’ve already phoned Lyn to say I’m not coming. She was relieved – she’d been worried because of the weather.”

James’s lips have turned down, self-mocking. “I don’t exactly have a full social calendar, sir. Midnight Mass is probably the highlight.”

He’s expecting Lewis to respond in the same piss-taking mode they’ve perfected between them, but instead his boss just gives him a steady look. It’s uncomfortable, so James changes the subject. “Do you mind if we go to mine for now, sir? The roads are getting worse by the minute and with some of the idiots out there I’m not sure I want to risk going any further than necessary. You can have my bed, and we’ll reassess the situation in the morning.”

Lewis nods. “Not in any hurry to encounter any more tossers who don’t have basic common sense, yeah. Thanks.”

* * *

The whisky in the coffee’s definitely not an indulgence now. They’re both frozen through, Lewis more than James. He’s sent his boss to the bathroom to change into dry clothes – just as well Lewis had packed for two nights away – and encouraged him to use the shower.

“If I didn’t say it already, thanks, man.” James turns at Lewis’s voice. “I’d probably still be stuck there if you hadn’t come.”

“If it ever happens again,” James says, in as chiding a tone as he can manage, “ _phone me_. You knew I’d come.”

Lewis gets mugs down from the cupboard. “Aye. Which is probably why I didn’t. I take advantage of you enough as it is.”

“What?” James stops what he’s doing and just stares, jaw slackening. “With respect, sir, you’re talking rubbish.” How Lewis could possibly think that is beyond belief. If anyone takes advantage in their relationship, it’s James. Apart from the daily mockery and smart-arsery he subjects Lewis to, the man allows James the pleasure of his company outside work, listens to him when he goes on and on about things that Lewis has no interest in – and recognises what it is he’s really saying at the same time – and never tells James to go away when he turns up uninvited on Lewis’s doorstep. And, incredibly, forgives him when he lies and deceives. There’s nothing James wouldn’t do for Lewis.

Lewis snorts. “You let me monopolise your free time without a word of complaint. And it’s not like I don’t know how I hated it when Morse did the same to me.”

James shakes his head, disbelieving. “Again, with respect, sir, it’s hardly the same circumstance. You had a family. And... well, you’ve never talked much about your personal relationship with DCI Morse, but I suspect you may not have enjoyed his company as much as I enjoy yours.” He’s looking away as he speaks; that last statement is hardly the type of thing he and Lewis normally say to each other, but it’s important that his boss understands that James doesn’t spend time with him under sufferance. Far from it.

“Oh, I liked Morse well enough – most of the time.” Lewis’s voice is coming from a lot closer suddenly. “Still didn’t want to spend hours in a pub with him after he’d driven me demented all day.” His hand lands against James’s back. “If it needs sayin’, I do enjoy your company – even when you’re bein’ a bloody cleverclogs.” 

Lewis turns away to get milk from the fridge, to James’s relief – his reaction would give far too much away to his highly observant boss – and they finish the coffee together in silence.

* * *

“No decorations, then?”

They’re on the couch, with coffee, sandwiches and the whisky bottle, watching the local news; the snow’s showing no signs of letting up, and emergency services all across the Midlands are stretched to the limit. 

James shrugs. “Doesn’t seem worth it, really.” He quirks an eyebrow in Lewis’s direction. “Don’t tell me you’ve got a tree and other paraphernalia in your flat?”

“I was going away for Christmas,” Lewis points out.

“True.” James raises his glass in Lewis’s direction, acknowledging the point.

They lapse into silence, and when the news ends James switches off the television without a word, turning on his iPod instead and selecting some of his favourite Christmas music – pieces by Bach, Handel and Berlioz, among others. He’s pleased to see that Lewis nods in approval as the first track begins to play.

“Nice, that,” Lewis says as the instrumental version of Bach’s Christmas Oratorio comes to an end. “Daresay Morse would’ve complained about the conductor, or the soloist, but I like it.”

“Me too.” James picks up the remote. “Want it again?”

“Mmm. Wouldn’t mind some more coffee, too, if you don’t mind. Me brain knows I’ve warmed up, but me body still thinks it’s out in the snow.”

James smiles, and goes to make more coffee. As he comes back, he automatically switches off all the lights except the standard lamp behind the sofa – his normal habit if he’s home for the evening and not reading or working. It’s only as he sits down next to Lewis again that he realises he’s accidently created an intimate atmosphere. _Shit, shit shit..._

“Relax, would you?” There’s amusement in Lewis’s tone, and he pats James’s knee lightly. “You’re behaving as if you think I’m gonna interrogate you.”

“Are you?” James asks, grateful for the diversion.

“Well, since you mention it...” Lewis shifts so he’s facing James, brushing their knees together in the process. “Why are you on your own for Christmas? No family or friends to visit?”

“I don’t mind being on my own.” And he hopes his dismissive tone will deter Lewis.

Naturally, it doesn’t. “Not what I asked, man.”

James sighs. “If you must, then... no. No family. As for friends, none on whom I would inflict my company.”

It’s Lewis’s turn to sigh. “Stupid sod. Ever occur to you that some friends might actually like your company?” James doesn’t answer. “I like your company,” Lewis adds.

“Some might question your taste, sir – or even your sanity,” James quips.

Ordinarily, Lewis would play along. Tonight, he just says mildly, “Ah, give over. Time you stopped believin’ you’re still the misfit in the playground, James.”

“Sir–” he starts to protest; the comment’s stung.

“If I’m gonna be invading your home for half of Christmas, make it Robbie.”

“Hardly invading,” James objects.

“Exactly,” Lewis points out softly, and James realises he’s been hoist by his own petard. Whimsically, he wonders whether Lewis knows where the saying comes from, and is tempted to quote Hamlet at the man.

Discretion wins out, however, and he pours Lewis – no, Robbie – another whisky. He starts to pass the glass to Robbie, but somehow their hands miss and fumble and suddenly he’s holding the glass with Robbie’s hand wrapped around his.

His gaze shoots to Robbie, only to find Robbie’s looking at him, eyes a little wider than usual. “Bloody hell.” Robbie’s voice is soft. “Didn’t think either of us had drunk that much.”

“We haven’t.” And they really haven’t – one shot each, that’s all. 

Robbie’s not looking away, and James can’t either. 

The music changes, and the soft, romantic sound of Placido Domingo singing Cantique de Noel fills the room. And Lewis is still watching him. 

It’s when his governor’s eyes widen and his expression changes to the look he gets when he’s solved a case that James knows he’s given himself away. How, he’s not sure – the way he’s looking at Lewis? Is he gripping Lewis’s fingers too tightly? Something else he wasn’t even aware of?

“James.” It’s a question and at the same time almost a plea.

“I’m sorry,” he says immediately. “I never meant you to find out. I... It won’t change anything, I promise. If you want, I’ll–” 

Lewis pulls his hand away, and James’s heart crashes into his stomach. But Lewis just reaches for the glass in James’s hand and sets it on the table, then folds his fingers around James’s again. “What if I want it to change things?” he asks, his tone as casual as if he’s asking whether James wants Chinese or Indian.

James blinks, convinced he imagined that. “You can’t mean...”

Robbie shrugs. “Dunno if I do yet. But the idea isn’t makin’ me want to run screaming. That’s got to mean something.”

James’s breath catches, and he shifts, leaning towards Robbie. Robbie angles his body into a better position... and then their lips are touching. Kissing. James’s heart is floating, singing, and his hands are almost shaking as they frame Robbie’s face.

Then a warm hand loops around the back of his head and Robbie tugs him closer, taking over the kiss and proving that it’s not only James who wants this badly.

* * *

A long time later, Robbie says, “Yeah, I do.”

James raises his head from where it’s resting on Robbie’s shoulder. “What?”

“I do want it to change things. All right with you?”

“Very.” James shifts again, moving to straddle Robbie and kiss him again – a development which Robbie appears to be extremely happy with, evidenced by the way he tugs James closer still, pressing their bodies together. 

They’re still kissing when the iPod playlist ends. Neither of them notices. And, outside, the snow continues to fall.

* * *

“What’s it like outside?” Robbie mumbles the following morning.

James groans. “You seriously want me to get out of this warm bed to check? I’m changing my mind, sir – you do take shameful advantage.”

“Shut up an’ look, man.” Robbie nudges him with his foot.

“Don’t need to.” James reaches for his phone, and looks up the weather and traffic reports. “Not too bad today, it seems. Most of the snow’s been cleared overnight – road conditions aren’t perfect, but the motorways and A-roads are passable and side-streets are being ploughed. You should phone Lyn and tell her I’ll have you up there by lunchtime.”

“No.” The implacable note in Robbie’s voice surprises him.

“Robbie, of course you’re going. I know how much you want to see your grandson.” He pauses, then says, “Of course, you could just take my car. I don’t really need it before the day after tomorrow.”

“Not what I mean.” Robbie reaches for James’s hand and squeezes it. “The only way I’m going up to Lyn’s is if you come with me – and stay.”

His heart lurches, but the self-doubt that’s wracked him for years almost makes him question Robbie’s seriousness – then he remembers Robbie’s comment from the previous evening. It’d hurt at the time, but his governor is right. He may still be a misfit, and will probably continue to be for most of his life – but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t fit anywhere. 

He fits with Lewis, and that’s what matters. It’s the only thing that matters.

He turns to Robbie and smiles. “I’d love to.”

* * *


End file.
